Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
N ick was sitting on the doorstep when I returned home and heaved myself through the garden gate. He Who Roams Wide was lying on the grass less than three metres away. As a large black tomcat with a brazen attitude, not much fazed him, not even a twitchy teenage werewolf. He was similar to He Who Must Sleep in that regard, even though they had little else in common.
The cat ignored my entrance but Nick leapt to his feet in alarm. ‘Jesus!’ he exclaimed. ‘Have you been in a fight?’
My clothes were dirty and torn in several places. There was at least one deep scratch on my cheek and several on my hands and arms, but nothing about my appearance was related to my fight with Quack and Ribbit. My current state was all down to She Who Hisses.
I pulled a face. Nick darted to my side and grabbed my arm as if to help me stumble into the house. My glare intensified and thankfully he got the message and released me. I was perfectly capable of walking.
Sensing my displeasure, He Who Roams Wide lifted his head and looked at me. ‘Yes,’ I told him. ‘It was She Who Hisses.’
The cat blinked. ‘No,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘She ran away.’ Again .
His tail flicked and he lowered his head back to the ground.
Nick squinted, his confusion obvious. ‘She Who Hisses?’
‘The black cat you scared away yesterday,’ I explained.
‘That’s her name? She Who Hisses?’
I nodded.
‘Weird name. Why don’t you call her Hissy or something more normal?’
‘Like what?’ I asked drily. ‘Tiger? Blackie? Socks? She Who Hisses is what she calls herself. Cats are perfectly capable of christening themselves.’ I pointed. ‘That’s He Who Roams Wide. The least I can do is show them respect by using their preferred names.’
Nick took a step backwards. ‘Ms McCafferty,’ he said. ‘Do you … talk to cats?’
He was remarkably na?ve, even given his upbringing away from Coldstream. ‘Doesn’t everyone?’ I asked mildly. ‘And I think we’re on first name terms now, Nick. Call me Kit.’
He continued to eye me as if I were crazy, though cat-lady crazy, not murderous maniac crazy so I supposed it could have been worse.
‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘how did you get on with your job hunting? Did you have any luck?’
His expression transformed. He bit his lip and nodded, putting me in mind of a small child clutching a stick of candy floss. ‘There’s a construction crew working out of the Glebe,’ he said, naming the warehouse district that bordered Danksville. ‘They’ve agreed to take me on probation. It’ll be scut work but the money’s not bad and it might lead to better things.’
‘Uh-huh. What’s the name of the crew?’ I’d have to check them out and make sure they were above board; there were plenty of unscrupulous people around who’d be happy to take advantage of a kid like Nick.
‘The Crushers.’
They didn’t sound very friendly. Did the name mean Skull Crushers or Candy Crushers? My mouth tightened but Nick didn’t notice.
‘The foreman is a bloke called Tommy. He’s half-ogre, but he’s really nice. He gave me a tour of the site and said that they’ve been looking for someone like me to join their team. I’ll get three hundred a week until I pass probation, then it’ll go up to five hundred.’
That wasn’t a bad deal for someone of his age without any experience or obvious family connections. It could be above board – or they could be hoping to use young Nick as a sacrifice to appease any nasty creatures that were lurking around whichever warehouse they were working on. I’d find out.
Such dark thoughts weren’t plaguing Nick, who was hopping excitedly from toe to toe. ‘I like the idea of building things,’ he beamed. ‘Creating something useful. Contributing .’ His eyes shone. ‘I can do this, Ms McCafferty. I can be good at this.’
‘Kit,’ I said to him. ‘Not Ms McCafferty.’
He didn’t hear me. His expression had taken on a distant gleam as no doubt he imagined himself designing and building skyscrapers. I softened further. This, I decided: this was the reason I was fighting his cause. He deserved to forge his own path and experience life for himself.
‘My dad would be really proud of me,’ he mumbled.
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I imagine he would be.’
I picked up the pile of mail that had landed on my doormat and flicked through it with a disinterested eye: three bills, and a whole heap of junk mail advertising a series of druid-led yoga sessions; a subscription service for a range of useless magical ingredients, and something exhorting me to spend the winter solstice at Crackendon Square. It was all rubbish.
I dropped the letters and flyers into the bin without another thought then I put away the shopping and busied myself tidying up before schooling Nick in the art of peeling potatoes and chopping onions in preparation for dinner. He approached the tasks with gusto, even though the onions made him cry harder than I had when She Who Loves Sunbeams had given birth to a litter of four poorly kittens who didn’t make it through their first night.
Before too long it occurred to me that I’d forgotten to pick up tomatoes during the excitement of the morning’s activities, so I sent him to buy some. Tears were still streaming down his cheeks. It was quite a sight as he lolloped off, a bag in one hand, a pastry in the other, a contented grin and a lot of crying. At least the boy was happy to be making himself useful.
Once he’d gone, I went outside to put down food for the neighbourhood ferals – my motley crew would eat later. As I did every afternoon, I replenished the water bowls and laid out several plates of cat food. Usually the cats were waiting, ready to pounce as soon as the food was down, but today there was no sign of them. Even He Who Roams Wide had vanished.
Something was up. Unfortunately, I suspected I knew what it was.
There was no sign of any werewolf watchers but just because I couldn’t see any of them didn’t mean they weren’t out there. I stepped away from the food, went to the gate and peered up and down the street. At first the way seemed clear, then I glimpsed the car trundling in my direction.
Only the uber-wealthy drive in Coldstream because something about the innate magic in the city makes cars break down frequently. Maintaining them is an expensive process, and keeping a petrol-driven vehicle is next to impossible, although electric cars tended to be more affordable. Or so I’d heard.
I rarely travelled far enough to make owning a car of any description worthwhile. Since I’d left my last job, I’d had no reason to stray from Coldstream. If I needed to head into the city centre, I jumped on a tram and walked the rest of the way. Trams were reliable and there was no chance of being diverted down an unusual road only to end up stuck in a too-narrow street. Given the powerful coven of witches who ran the tram network, there was also far less chance of random hijackingseven in this dodgy neighbourhood, and for that I was grateful. There was nothing quite like the experience of being trussed up in a corner by a bunch of violent, spell-wielding idiots to ruin your day.
The car rolled to a halt outside my gate. Its windows were tinted so I couldn’t identify the occupants, but that didn’t stop several of my neighbours from twitching their curtains and gawping. It had been a long time since a car had driven down this road, so it would be the talk of the street for days to come. To be honest, it was a miracle its wheels were still intact; there were enough deep potholes in Danksville to rip most tyres to shreds.
I watched warily while the driver’s door opened and a woman stepped out. Her authority and power were obvious: she held herself in a manner that didn’t so much suggest‘don’t fuck with me’as‘please fuck with me because breaking every bone in your body will make my day’ . I already liked her.
Quack and Ribbit must have been the Z-list of MacTire werewolves but this woman, with her sleek black hair, perfect poise and clever green eyes that didn’t miss a trick, was definitely A-list. These werewolves really wanted Nick back in the fold.
She carefully adjusted her cuffs as if she didn’t already know I was watching her then lifted her head and smiled at me. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes but her expression was more professional than threatening. ‘Good afternoon, Ms McCafferty,’ she said and gestured to the car. ‘Please step inside. I’d like to take you for a drive.’
No, thanks. ‘I was brought up not to speak to strangers,’ I said. ‘And I don’t want to go for a drive.’
I caught a flicker of amusement in her face. ‘It’s not a question of what you want, Ms McCafferty, it’s what we need.’
‘Is that the royal “we”?’ I asked.
On cue, the rear passenger doors opened and two burly male werewolves stepped out wearing identical dark suits. They gazed at me as if I were a tasty morsel; one of them even licked his lips.
‘No,’ the woman said. ‘It’s not.’
I considered my choices. ‘I’m still declining the offer,’ I told her.
I expected the two suited goons to rush forward and try to bundle me into the vehicle but the woman surprised me. She nodded and reached into the car for something, though she didn’t pull out a weapon or produce a threatening spell; what she pulled out was a cat carrier.
I stared at the carrier, then at her. Well played, scary lady. Well played. I had to hand it to Quack and Ribbit as well. Despite their injuries, they must have been paying greater attention to me in the alleyway this morning than I’d realised.
From inside the carrier, two very annoyed yellow eyes shone balefully in my direction. She Who Hisses lived up to her name and hissed.
‘How about a trade-off?’ The woman pointed to the carrier. ‘ Two hours of your time for…’ her mouth tightened ‘…this delightful creature.’
I sighed. Score one to the werewolf in the power suit.
The goons left the carrier with She Who Hisses inside my front door, which suggested they expected to return me later in the day – or that’s what they wanted me to think. Either way, I played nice and climbed into the back seat.
‘You know,’ I said, as they sandwiched me between them like a slice of ham, ‘it’s faster to take the tram.’
Nobody deigned to answer; they’d gotten what they wanted and were no longer interested in conversation. The woman put her foot down and expertly reversed the vehicle. If I’d been hoping to witness the shiny car getting stuck down a narrow street, I was going to be disappointed because it was obvious she knew what she was doing. In any case, by the time she’d manoeuvred into a forward-facing position, the goons had plonked a velvet hood over my head. To add to my irritation, they tied my hands together. It felt like overkill but I knew better than to complain.
I could have spent the journey trying to work out where we were heading but I already knew. I leaned back and figured I might as well take the opportunity for a catnap. I performed far better when I was well rested, and one should never miss the chance of a little snooze.
I must have slept more deeply than I’d intended because one of the goons had to shake me awake when we arrived. They hauled me out of the car and half-dragged, half-pushed me into a building. I sensed wooden floors and wide hallways.
Hands pressed down on my shoulders and I was forced into a chair; only then was the hood yanked off my head.
I blinked and looked around. I was in the centre of a large room with shuttered windows, a roaring fire and lots of solid-looking furniture of the sort that was handed down through generations rather than purchased on a budget for the short term.
‘She fell asleep on the way here,’ Goon One announced.
From behind me a smooth voice drawled, ‘Did she, indeed? Either she is very stupid or very confident.’
‘Or very tired,’ I said aloud.
There was a short laugh. ‘That’s also a possibility.’ There were footsteps then their owner walked around and faced me. Alexander MacTire, head of the MacTire pack. I’d expected as much.
‘Greetings, Ms McCafferty,’ he said. ‘You’ve been causing me some problems today.’
I looked him up and down. He held his wolf well; truthfully, if I hadn’t already known who he was, I’d have questioned if he were a werewolf at all. His hair was dark, albeit peppered with shots of silver, and his skin was tanned. While I didn’t get the same sense of simmering potential from him that I’d got from the woman, he exuded authority. This was someone who was used to being in command and who enjoyed the role of leader. But I already knew that.
‘Do you like what you see?’ he asked, raising an eyebrow.
I managed a shrug. ‘There’s not much of a resemblance between you and your nephew.’
‘He favours his father. His mother was my younger sister.’
‘Did you have her killed?’
MacTire looked genuinely astonished – and he wasn’t the only one surprised by my question. The nearest goon backhanded me with enough strength to send me flying off the chair and I landed on the floor with a heavy thump. Ouch.
To give him his due, Alexander MacTire was at my side in a second to help me up while glaring at his minion. ‘We don’t do that,’ he said with quiet menace. ‘Leave us.’
‘Boss—’
MacTire didn’t bother repeating himself. I felt the temperature in the room drop several degrees, then there was a rustle of fabric followed by a near-inaudible whisper. ‘Yes, boss. Sorry, boss.’
There were footsteps then MacTire and I were alone. ‘My apologies,’ he said, gently returning me to the chair and untying the rope around my hands. ‘My people can be somewhat over-zealous at times.’
Uh-huh.
‘But you have to admit that your question was very rude – more than rude, in fact. For a mere cat lady, you tread a dangerous line. I loved my sister and I liked her husband. Both their deaths were the result of a tragic accident.’ His voice hardened. ‘I am not in the habit of killing off my family members.’
I didn’t comment. MacTire watched me for a moment before taking another chair and sliding it opposite mine. He took off his jacket, placed it carefully on the chair back and sat down. ‘Who are you?’ he asked softly.
‘My name is Kit McCafferty.’
‘I know your name. I want to know who you are.’
He was a lot smarter than Quack and Ribbit. ‘I’m exactly what you see. A middle-aged cat lady looking for a quiet life.’
He didn’t miss a beat. ‘If that were true, you wouldn’t have slapped down my people this morning.’
I snorted. ‘It’s not my fault your werewolves are useless. They have far more confidence than skill.’
‘Not any more.’
I inclined my head. ‘Then I’m glad to have been of service. However, you don’t want to know who I am, Mr MacTire, you just want your nephew back.’
He leaned back in his chair. ‘Nicholas needs a firm guiding hand. He needs to be with me, with family .’
‘He doesn’t want to be in your pack.’
‘Right now he doesn’t know what he wants. He’s still grieving for his parents.’
‘Exactly,’ I shot back. ‘You need to give him space and time. Anything else and he’ll resent you. You don’t want that.’
MacTire linked his hands. ‘He only showed up at your door yesterday. What’s your angle? Did you lure him to you?’
I almost laughed. ‘I’m not that kind of person. He saw my advert and he answered it. Nothing more, nothing less.’
‘Then why do you care what happens to him?’
I shrugged. ‘I’m a sucker for lost souls.’
He continued to eye me, his dark eyes glittering. ‘Nah,’ he said eventually. ‘I’m not buying it. This is what is going to happen, Ms McCafferty. You are going to leave here unharmed, and in return you will tell my nephew that he is no longer welcome to stay with you. I will take care of him. He will be safe with me.’
‘Like his parents were?’
For the first time Alexander MacTire’s mask cracked. ‘As I’ve already told you, that was an accident,’ he bit out. ‘I want Nicholas where I can keep an eye on him to ensure there are no more accidents.’ He was too smooth and too practiced for me to judge his sincerity.
My best move would have been to walk away. I didn’t know Nick, I certainly didn’t owe him anything and his uncle might be telling the truth about having his best interests at heart. But nobody should be forced into a situation against their will; nobody should be pushed into a life they hadn’t chosen for themselves.
‘Unfortunately accidents happen,’ I said after a few moments’ thought. ‘And they seem to happen regularly to the MacTire pack. You became pack alpha when your father met an unhappy,’ I paused before emphasising the word, ‘ accident .’
‘My father died of a heart attack,’ he said stiffly.
‘Mmm.’
His eyes flashed with anger but I ploughed ahead regardless. ‘You asked who I am, Mr MacTire. I really am a middle-aged cat lady but I’ve not always been that person. I retired from my job three years ago.’
His brow furrowed. ‘Aren’t you a little young to retire?’
‘My previous employer requires everyone to hang up their proverbial hat at the ripe old age of thirty-eight. They have their reasons for enforcing that rule – good reasons, mostly.’
MacTire’s anger had been replaced by wariness. ‘Who was your previous employer?’
I smiled. ‘Eagle Enforcers and Liquidators – EEL. Our paths have crossed before, Mr MacTire, although you probably weren’t aware of it because we didn’t meet in person when you hired EEL four years ago. In fact, you were one of my last clients. I’m the person who helped your father with his … heart attack.’
I lowered my voice and took a breath. Here we go. ‘That’s how I know his death wasn’t an accident. He wasn’t ill, he was the picture of health until an hour or so before his passing. So while you might not be in the habit of killing off family members, you have done so at least once. His death was at my hands but it was on your orders.’
MacTire didn’t so much as twitch. ‘You’re an assassin,’ he breathed.
‘As I said,’ I murmured, ‘I’m retired.’